


Twitch

by lockewrites



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Baby's sibling, Gen, Platonic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockewrites/pseuds/lockewrites
Summary: In meeting Buddy for the first time you find there's just one more person out there that cares to find out who you are rather than just stare straight through you.





	Twitch

Being five years older than Miles, or Baby as he was called now, meant looking out for him, meant making sure he wasn't always in trouble, or rather that he wasn't in to much trouble. It meant getting roped into working for Doc when you didn't need to, when you could have been anywhere else but the wrong place and wrong time. It meant getting to know each one of the people Doc brought in for jobs, meant getting to be stared at by everyone that came in. Examined under watchful eye.

You were in the car during the accident that caused Miles' tinnitus. The accident that killed your parents. You were lucky enough that there wasn't a ringing in your ear, just a couple of bruised ribs and a broken arm. Lucky enough that you and your brother survived. Lucky enough that nothing would permanently stick, no injury or ringing in your ear that you'd have to learn to deal with, learn to play music just to drown out the sound. You were lucky. For a little bit.

You were in the car that Miles stole from Doc, the car that was caring more than you two were worth combined. Miles needed to drive and he'd get it anyway he could, even if it meant stealing cars. He needed some wort of release for his anger, for the frustration that was building inside of him and you weren't going to deny that. He was the driver and you were the lookout. 

That's how it had been when it all started. When you were recruited, if that's what could be said of what happened after Doc caught up with his stolen car. Neither of you spoke to Doc at that first meeting, stubborn and quiet. You said nothing, just glared at him and stood there filled with anger that you were now being forced to work for the mysterious man. 

After that Miles became Baby. Doc's reliable driver, one call meant he was there. You had no name but you were Doc's eyes and ears. Any information that was needed you could find, give you a computer or point you to a bank teller, a cop, anybody and you could gather what was needed. Everyone had a name but you barely spoke and Doc didn't need to hear your voice to understand you. Baby and Doc were the only two who spoke to you anyway. Any one of the people brought on the heists asked a question and were told their own secrets

That's how it was. You'd become the collector of secrets. Everyone that Doc brought on for heists you knew everything there was to know. You even knew everything there was to know about Doc, including his real name. But you'd been sworn not to tell anyone that, not even Baby.

When you turned fourteen the twitches started. They weren't painful and they were so infrequent that you didn't pay attention to them. They were bothersome when you were trying to read or listen to music, sometimes distracting but nothing to difficult to deal with. A pulsating twitching muscle spasm in either your leg or your arm. They would force you to stop what you were doing but they didn't last all that long. 

Doc started calling you Twitch after that. You didn't mind. You kinda liked it. At least when he used it. Anyone else who used it always used it as an insult.

People got muscle twitches all the time. At least that what you read a few years later when you realized that the twitches and spasms you were having weren't going away. They were unpredictable. They happened and then they ended. Ignoring them as you used to do wasn't working anymore.

Sometimes it happened for a few seconds, however most times they went on for minutes at a time. You hadn't worried about what they were until they were twitches so bad that your entire arm would shake and you couldn't do anything. Doc had stopped you from digging for information on the internet because you couldn't sit still sometimes, instead it was more field work where your spasms were noticeable enough but people were polite and didn't ask questions. Or at least some people were polite. Most just openly stared in disgust.

After the twitches and spasms began hindering everything you used to be able to do you took it to doctor after doctor. Some said it was traditional muscle spasms caused by lack of exercise and that you needed to work out more more. Others said you should cut out caffeine and sugar. Each was attempted and given up on once the twitches came back with a vengeance. Months after months passed and you thought about just giving up. Doc wouldn't care what you had so long as you and Baby would still come in for each job. You still got him his information and that's all that he needed. 

But you needed a name. You needed to know that you weren't crazy.

Benign Fasciculation Syndrome. 

That's what was causing the twitches. No overdoing it with caffeine, no injury lain dormant from the crash, no lack of exercise, no nothing.

Just a neurological disorder. A fuck up with some genes is what the doctor had basically said. The only one who actually wanted to do some more intensive exams. A few brain scans. The only doctor who had taken the time to actually listen to just what was going on.

BFS. It had a name. And a nicer name then it's sibling. ALS.

ALS was degenerative, the body would deteriorate as well as the mind. BFS you'd live a full life, you'd just have to limit what you could do because of your twitches. You'd get full use of your body, sorta, and full use of your mind, albeit with damaged neurons. Driving was dangerous and while you could still do it it wasn't recommended because of the unpredictability of the spasms. Really you couldn't do anything with your hands, or your legs, or rather any part of your body. Although you knew that already.

Legs, arms, upper lip, eyelids, hands, pretty much anything with a muscle or near a major muscle twitched. You'd gotten used to them. The distraction it caused. Nothing phased you anymore it just irritated you that you'd have to stop what you were doing. Couldn't eat for hours until the twitch went down, could walk but only barely, couldn't sleep because you were twitching everywhere, couldn't read because your whole arm was shaking. Everything that had happened before the diagnosis you were annoyed with but used to. It was just now you had a name to answer the question of, why is this happening?

Twitch became who you were. No one questioned it. No one asked you anything, no one looked at you. Or if they did they quickly turned away once they noticed a spasm happening or your arm shaking. You just sat at the back of the room paying close attention to what Doc had to say and paying attention to who walked through the door and that was it. Nothing more and nothing less.

Most times the people who came in through the parking garage were people you didn't know and you'd spend the meeting reading every bit of information you could get on them. People weren't that great at hiding who they were, or in most cases who they once were. You liked knowing just who you were working with and how trustworthy they were.

Sitting and staring at a screen or sitting and listening, that was what you did because it was pretty much the only thing your body would allow you to do. No one paid attention to you and you could get away with moving around trying to get a twitch to leave, to go away. They never did quick enough but you sure as hell would try.

You knew you were lucky, a few other fuck ups in your genetic code and you wouldn't have any muscle mass but it didn't mean you were happy with what you had.

It didn't mean you were happy with not being able to move every so often when a twitch was particularly bad.

It didn't mean you were happy when people stared. 

That seemed to be the worst part. Doc and those doing the jobs, the heists, wouldn't stare, at least most of them wouldn't.

But everyone else would. Everyone on the street or in a restaurant or even when you were sitting in the hospital waiting room. You couldn't blame them, someone with a spasming limb or a full on shaking limb was pretty distracting. But they never would ask. No one had ever asked. Everyone stared, no one took the time to say hello, no one took the time to find out if anything was wrong. You'd rather take their questions then have their eyes burn into the back of your head.

But no. No one would ever ask what was going on. They wouldn't ask who you were. If you needed help. No one really cared to find out who you were.

At least not until Buddy.

Doc had brought him and some others in for another job. Bank robbery. Easy. You knew the times, knew the bank tellers and their shifts. Knew everything because you'd had to give it to Doc to plan the job. Your part was over but you stayed anyway, stayed because you were curious about who he'd brought in. Their names you'd known since Doc had announced who he was bringing in. You knew Buddy, Griff, Darling. They weren't mysteries to you but they were intriguing. Everyone Doc brought in was intriguing. 

Buddy had stared at you like all the others when he first walked in and sat down. He didn't say anything. He just watched you sitting there on the floor head buried in a file. Research. More names to sift through, already planning the next heist, the next batch of people Doc was planning on rotating in. You had tuned out everyone but Doc until you heard a voice above you.

"What do they call you?" 

Buddy was standing above you, looking down. Still staring.

Normally you wouldn't have answered. Normally you would have gone back to what you were doing, but Buddy had interested you. He'd asked. And that was the most interesting things anyone could do.

"Twitch"

"You got a reason for that name?"

Instead of giving a detailed response you pulled up your pant leg, showing the muscle moving underneath the skin.

"They do that often"

"I thank my brain everyday for it. For everything that I can't do because of this."

"So instead you do nothing."

"I'm Doc's eyes and ears."

Buddy hummed in response.

"I knew who your were before you even walked into this place."

"Twitch because you twitch. How original."

"Very,"

Buddy grinned holding out his hand which you shook.

"I like you."  
"Mutual. I guess" you responded, shrugging.

Buddy came back after the robbery. Another handshake and another repeat of your name. He paid attention. He asked questions. Doc was never happy about people associating with people from the jobs but you didn't care. People didn't ask questions, people just watched. Buddy asked questions. Buddy learned. Buddy didn't mind you having to stop doing something and stay still for five, ten, fifteen minutes, just shaking and waiting for it to stop.

The twitches happened and you dealt with them. Doc knew, Baby knew. That was it. That had been it. There was no one else. No friends. No family. Medical tests and poking and prodding and not being able to do anything about anything. Being a rare disease kid. Having anything and everything go wrong and being yelled at for not being able to sit still.

It was all you had known and really all you ever would know. 

People found out about a neurological disease and somehow you became contagious or fragile or both. 

Two people. That's how many knew.

But two had become three.

And that third didn't think anything was different. 

Buddy didn't care. 

He only cared that you could help get money, do heists. He only cared that you would make on time to dinner with him and Darling. 

Baby, and Doc, and Buddy.

Turns out one more person cared enough. 

Turns out you had one more person in your corner.

One more person that used Twitch with affection. Not with ridicule. 

Twitch. That was who you were and that was who you'd always be but at least you weren't that alone anymore.

Nope.

You had a friend.

You had Buddy.

**Author's Note:**

> BFS is at it is written. A neurological disorder that is the cousin of ALS. This was original posted by me on tumblr at locke-writes.


End file.
